


The Missing One-Tenth

by Red



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: But Not the Sexy Sort, Established Relationship, M/M, Octopi & Squid, Tentacles, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-07
Updated: 2007-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some small fic that came out of a discussion on the Holmesslash mailinglist, in which Lyrical Soul had been ruing the lack of tentacles in the fandom. Watson comes home to to a bit of a mess in the tub, and Holmes displays his cat-like tendency to bring by bits of dead things to show how much he cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Missing One-Tenth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyricalsoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/gifts).



I have, in my years with Sherlock Holmes, been subjected to some of the most intolerable conditions upon arriving home from an evening. Whether with his pipe or with his chemical experiments, Holmes is always finding some manner in which to make the atmosphere of Baker Street absolutely ill-suited to human life.

However, it was on an evening some months after his return when, upon entering the sitting room, I was greeted by a scent both noxious and utterly unique to my prior experience. I can only say that it smelled as if the air from every foul dock Holmes and I have had occasion to visit in our professional career had been crammed inside of our rooms. I had no basis for knowing from whence this stench came from; as far as I knew, there were no chemical experiments that could result in the scent of countless decaying fish.

"Holmes," I called out, despairing to know of the answer, "What in God's name is that reek?"

Holmes called down from the bathroom, "Quickly, Watson, come up here and see if I cannot still surprise you."

I could not say I was looking forward to seeing whatever Holmes was on about, but I resigned myself to my fate, and joined him in the bathroom. Holmes intercepted me at the door, his lithe form trembling with a barely-suppressed excitement. As much as I knew I would not like whatever was behind him, I was endeared by the nearly child-like exuberance of his gaze.

"Honestly, Watson. It is the most magnificent thing. Of course, I knew that they were no mariner's myth, why, one has only to see the scarring upon some of the larger members of the species Physeter macrocephalus to know that..."

"Holmes," I interrupted, grasping one of his pale hands, which was gesturing fluidly with his fervent speech, in my own, "I know I shall regret asking, but may I just see what it is you have rotting in our bathroom?"

He smiled quickly at me--a smile at once affectionate and smug--and pulled me by the hand into the bathroom.

Inside the tub was... I barely can write it, so indignant I am to this day... the largest tentacle I have ever seen, partially decomposing where it had once met a surely massive body. Holmes had, in an attempt to preserve it, filled with tub with ice-water, but it was clear that this was in vain.

It was very like him to mistake my look of horror for an impressed gaze, and he immediately flew into his explanation once more.

"I bought it off of some Norwegian sailors this morning. To think, they were going to throw it away! This, the clear and incontrovertible proof of the existence of what Steenstrup named Architeuthis--the giant squid, Watson! Of course, there have been tentacles found before, and indeed, strandings have been said to occur in New Zea--"

"What this is 'clear and incontrovertible proof' of, Holmes, is that you shall be clearing this mess before Mrs. Hudson catches wind of it--if you'll pardon the pun."

He looked ready to protest, both to being interrupted and to the loss of his great specimen, but I continued. "And if you do not, by God, you can sleep in you own room--which, I may add, is considerably closer to your aromatic trophy--tonight."

"You would not," he said, trying for a haughty and imperious gaze--no easy thing when standing next to a decaying tentacle.

"I am willing to forgive perhaps more than I ought to, Holmes. However, when a man comes home to an eighth of a sea-creature in his tub, that is when he must draw the line."

Holmes, seeing my determination, merely shrugged and looked sadly down at the tub. "Very well, Watson. I shall attempt to have this cleaned before I hear of it from Mrs. Hudson." He glanced quickly up at me, "If you get ready for bed, I shall be up as soon as can be managed."

I nodded, and turned to escape from the smell. I was pleased I had won this victory, for, as I had said to him, I am far too lenient with that man.

As I ascended the stair, however, I heard him call up to me.

"And it's one-tenth, Watson. It is a squid."

I would wait until he had sufficiently cleaned up this "tenth" to inform him he would be sleeping in his own room, regardless.


End file.
